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CHARLOTTE

I pull up the lace panties, feeling the soft fabric against my skin.

“The fuck?” I hiss.

Crotchless thong.

Grabbing the leather straps, I stand in front of the full-length mirror in front of the bed.

I spin to look at my ass.

She’s good. All the squats pay off.

Holding up the contraption in front of me, I play around with it, trying to figure out which bit goes where.

It looks too small. I frown, staring at all the gold buckles.

I get to work undoing one side and step into it. As I pull it up, it gets stuck on my thighs.

“Jesus.”

Taking it off, I try again. I can feel my anger sizzling as my face reddens with frustration.

On the second attempt, it’s still not right.

This time, I rip it off and let out a scream as I throw it against the wall.

This is step one, and I’m already showing my weakness.

Taking a few deep breaths, I walk over and pick it up.

Okay. It looks like there’s a garter to go around my stomach that unclips from the straps around my leg, and the hoop from the garter must connect to the one hanging down from my bra clasp.

“I can do this.”

I keep my cool and concentrate, and ten minutes later, I’m in. I even have the black leather cuffs on each wrist.

Finishing it with the killer black heels, I swipe on some clear lip gloss and ruffle my long curls before looking in the mirror.

“Damn.” My mouth drops open.

I’ve never looked or felt this drop-dead sexy in my life. I’ve never had a reason to.

The straps, almost like a thin collar around my neck, go down over the sheer black bra. The waist garter pinches me in.

As I turn, my ass looks perfect.

It almost distracts me from the games.

If this is the outfit, then what the hell am I going to be doing?

Or who will be doing it to me?

I’ve focused so much on the thought of escape, and the games themselves, I’ve looked at it as more of a battle. But looking at myself now, this could be the least prepared I’ve ever been.

I rush to the bathroom, the cold porcelain of the sink a shock against my clammy hands as I turn the tap.

Bile rises in my throat, thinking about Vlad’s hands on me. The first time. The way I screamed for him to stop, but it only made it worse.

It felt like an eternity. Like it would never end.

That murderous feeling returns as my blood boils. I have to win these games so I can kill that asshole. That drives me. Ten years of suffering are my fuel.

I was eighteen. The more I fought, the worse I was punished.

For years.

And now, I’m numb. These men cannot hurt me more than my husband does.

I close my eyes and splash the icy water on my face to calm myself.

“I will end this,” I whisper, over and over.

Jimmy’s face flashes in my mind, calming me. I can hear his soft praise in my ear.

It’s almost like he’s here.

His touch, his tongue, his everything reminds me there is more outside of my cage.

That one night with him altered my entire outlook. It gave me hope.

He proved that there are men who respect consent.

That will worship their women rather than break them.

I just need to survive a little longer, then perhaps I’ll find someone who can help me heal.

Until then, I will keep fighting.